7

Match point at the Mount Holly Lawn Tennis Club: Jack was drenched with sweat. He and his father had scraped through the first elimination on a tie-breaker: six-four, three-six, seven-six. After a few hours of rest they started the second round. The father-son team they now faced was much younger—the father only slightly older than Jack, and the son no more than twelve. But they could play! Jack and his father won only one game in the first set, but the easy victory must have lulled their opponents into a false sense of security, for they made a number of unforced errors in the second set and lost it four-six.

So, with one set apiece, it was now four-five, and Jack was losing his serve. It was deuce with the advantage to the receiver. Jack’s right shoulder was on fire. He had been putting everything he had into his serves, but the pair facing him across the net had returned every single one. This was it. If he lost this point, the match was over and he and Dad would be out of the tournament. Which would not break Jack’s heart. If they won it meant he’d have to return next Sunday. He didn’t relish that thought. But he wasn’t going to throw the match. His father had a right to one hundred percent and that was what he was going to get.

He faced the boy. For three sets now Jack had been trying to find a weakness in the kid’s game. The twelve-year-old had a Borg topspin forehand, a flat, two-handed Connors backhand, and a serve that could challenge Tanner’s for pace. Jack’s only hope lay in the kid’s short legs, which made him relatively slow, but he hit so many winners that Jack had been unable to take advantage of it.

Jack served to the kid’s backhand and charged the net, hoping to take a weak return and put it away. The return came back strong and Jack made a weak volley to the father, who slammed it up the alley to Jack’s left. Without thinking, Jack shifted the racquet to his left hand and lunged. He made the return, but then the kid passed Dad up the other alley.

The boy’s father came up to the net and shook Jack’s hand.

“Good game. If your dad had your speed he’d be club champ.” He turned to his father. “Look at him, Tom—not even breathing hard. And did you see that last shot of his? That left-handed volley? You trying to slip a ringer in on us?”

His father smiled. “You can tell by his ground strokes he’s no ringer. But I never knew he was ambidextrous.”

They all shook hands, and as the other pair walked off, Jack’s father looked at him intently.

“I’ve been watching you all day. You’re in good shape.”

“I try to stay healthy.” His father was a shrewd cookie and Jack was uncomfortable under the scrutiny.

“You move fast. Damn fast. Faster than any appliance repairman I’ve ever known.”

Jack coughed. “What say we have a beer or two. I’m buying.”

“Your money’s no good here. Only members can sign for drinks. So the beer’s on me.” They began to walk toward the clubhouse. His father was shaking his head. “I’ve got to say, Jack, you really surprised me today.”

Gia’s hurt and angry face popped into Jack’s mind.

“I’m full of surprises.”